


What Happens in Mesopotamia Stays in Mesopotamia

by ehonauta (banzai)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse of Sumerian mythology, Bittersweet, F/M, Mesopotamia, backstory that was not jossed, the characters have different names but they're really them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:45:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banzai/pseuds/ehonauta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, two very young and rather clueless supernatural beings shared something like a love story. It ended badly, as many love stories do, and the two parted. For nearly three thousand years they happily (and unhappily) pretended the whole mess had never happened, existing rather unremarkably as a dutiful angel and a crossroads demon. Until a couple of denim-wrapped nightmares and one disobedient seraph threw them back together.</p>
<p>This is how their story started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is entirely the fault of That Line, which has had my brain churning for weeks. Beta'd by the marvelous cymbalism. All residual errors are mine.

_“Easy, love. If you remember our time in Mesopotamia the way I do, you know I’m a lover, not a fighter.”_

Once upon a time, two very young and rather clueless supernatural beings shared something like a love story. It ended badly, as many love stories do, and the two parted. For nearly three thousand years they happily (and unhappily) pretended the whole mess had never happened, existing rather unremarkably as a dutiful angel and a crossroads demon. Until a couple of denim-wrapped nightmares and one disobedient seraph threw them back together.

This is how their story started.

\--

In the beginning...

Wait, no. _After_ the beginning, but before those plucky Hebrew tribes wrote down the story of the beginning, the potent cocktail of coincidence and human hope created gods. Like all gods, they started off small: little spirits invoked to ward off the curdling of milk or death by viper.

And like all human things, these spirits _wanted._ They hungered and lusted and craved more attention from the humans who had created them. So they became cannibals, literally and figuratively, consuming the powers of their neighbors as they killed and ate each other.

Some grew to be powerful but were lost to history when their humans intermarried with other tribes and they disappeared or were eaten in turn. But some very canny and very lucky little gods found themselves exalted by humans that had developed two very handy things: cities and writing.

One such lucky bastard was Nergal, king of the dead, the furious one — the dunghill cock. Now, if you asked Nergal why he allowed humans to call him such a rude and dismissive thing as a "dunghill cock" he'd just laugh, and wink, and say "Well, it's true, isn't it? I’m the king of the mountain, but the mountain’s just a bunch of flimsy little human bodies piled with dirt. I’ve got their souls, sure, but they’re only entertaining for so long. So let them call me what they like. It’s best if no one has any delusions here, and as long as they’re still praying and sacrificing to me, I frankly couldn’t care less.”

Now this Nergal wasn't the most powerful in his pantheon, but he had his domain and his powers and his worship and was, therefore, as close to happy as is possible for a fundamentally greedy being to be.

And then things, ironically, began to go to shit.

Those plucky little Hebrew tribes, it seems, had on their side not only a god more powerful than Enlil (who had himself rather vexingly stymied all of Nergal's attempts to usurp his powers) but some extraordinarily annoying creatures called _malakhim._

The first time Nergal met a malakh, he was basking in the relentless summer sun, whose rays withered crops, dried the water from the riverbeds, and heated wind that leached moisture from human mouths and eyes and skin. He was quite comfortably situated in a dried-out pool, feet kicked up, arms behind his head, when a being, brighter than his sun yet somehow cool, loomed over him.

He scowled.

"You are blocking my sun."

"It is not _your_ sun, creature. It is the Father's, as are all things. I have come—"

"No, hang on a tick," he interrupted testily. "This sun is mine. It kills the crops, it kills the men, and then they pray to _me_. _My_ sun, not my father's."

The being made a soft and musical yet somehow disdainful sound of amusement.

"Your Enlil is nothing in comparison to the Father of all creation. I have come to tell you—"

"Oh, go copulate with a sheep. I know how divinity works, and no one's more powerful than Enlil... or maybe Enki, but what that lunatic does on a day-to-day basis is really irrelevant. Now if you wouldn't mind getting out of my sun, I was—"

The being (which, Nergal noted irritatedly, still hadn't quite managed to look like anything more than a vaguely solid glow) interrupted _him_ this time.

"Fool. I speak of the great I AM, who created all things, sees all things, and knows all things. He has sent me in his great wisdom and mercy to offer you exaltation and blessing for your dominion."

Nergal frowned. "I do my own blessing, thanks. Much appreciated, do run along now."

The being did not move.

He huffed. "I said thanks but no thanks. You are a messenger, yes? I presume you can pass that message along to your great whoever. Shoo."

The being wavered but remained still.

Nergal frowned harder. "If you're going to have some kind of paralyzing mental crisis about this, would you at least do me a favor and dim that cursed glow? I really was enjoying the sun."

The being wavered again, and dimmed, and slowly coalesced into a creature that looked suspiciously like a human woman with a rather doubtful look on her face.

Nergal perked up at the sight of a face he could read with emotions he could potentially manipulate.

He smiled.

"Look, I've been beastly and rude. Have a seat, and we'll start from the beginning. We'll introduce ourselves, you give me your little spiel, and we'll see what's to be done to get us square, yeah?"

The being — woman? — shot him a look that was, rather impressively, haughty, disapproving, and a bit puzzled, all at once. "If you think to scheme against me, spirit, you must know that my heart is hardened against all voices but the Father's."

"Yes, of course, naturally. Why you're even talking to me I can't fathom. No matter, no matter. Have a seat." He gestured lazily at the dried-mud bank across from him. "It's surprisingly comfortable."

The malakh gave him a sour look but acquiesced, settling her startlingly white garments rather awkwardly around her.

"Now, manners. You're... ah... my guest, so I'll begin, shall I? I'm Nergal, and obviously you've heard of me. God of death, ruler of the blazing sun, king of the underworld. Some unfortunates have cause to call me the furious one, but we're all friends here, so I'm sure that won't come up. And you are...?"

"I am called Shamsiel," she said, and her voice carried a tinge of pride.

Nergal cocked an eyebrow. "Sunlight of God, eh? Bit of a mouthful, sweetheart."

The disapproving look returned, but she tilted her head to the side minutely at the endearment.

He grinned and sat up a bit.

"So!" He clapped his hands together and grinned. "Tell me about this impressive god of yours and we'll see if we can't find the best way to proceed."

Shamsiel straightened her head and began again. "The Lord our God, blessed be his name forever, has decreed that the Hebrew peoples, whom he has chosen as his own, shall have dominion over all the earth. He is a jealous god, and shall countenance no other gods before Him."

At this Nergal quirked a wry eyebrow, but since she seemed to really be warming to her material, he let her continue uninterrupted.

"The Lord has seen the claims that you have made upon the dark things, the dead, the burning fires, the withering sun, O dunghill cock." (Here she shot him a look that might almost be considered apologetic, but Nergal just waved her on magnanimously.)

"He who has in his grasp the whole of Creation shall grant blessings on you as custodian of the dead. For this great and mighty gift he asks only your devotion and that you join your voice to the Song of His exaltation."

She finished her proclamation with a smile of great relish and waited expectantly for Nergal's enthusiastic response.

Nergal, for his part, was genuinely surprised.

Both eyebrows crept up his forehead. "Let me get this straight, darling. Your god — your Father — claims not only the domains of all of the gods of the great kingdoms of Akkad and Babylon, despite being the god of a populous but rather rude collection of goatherds, and he is going to _generously_ allow me to keep some of the power that — and let this be noted — I _already have_ in exchange for my worship of him."

She nodded, satisfied. "Precisely! The song of exaltation is glorious — all beings surely long to share in it! And His grace is—"

"No, no, hang on, you are getting _much_ too far ahead of things. What's in this for me?"

Shamsiel's smile fell into a puzzled moue. "What do you mean? You shall join the choirs of His servants and share in the glory of His regard."

"Mmmm, yeah, that's not quite specific enough for me. What, precisely, am I getting out of this deal _here on earth_? Your El there — what did you say — shall abide no other gods? So wouldn't I be getting a demotion, hmm?"

Clearly this thought had never occurred to her. She shifted uncomfortably, the folds of her garments disturbing little swirls of dried mud dust. "I ah... "

Nergal smiled benignly. "That’s what I thought. Look, Shamsiel, I'm sure your god didn't mean for this to vex you. Obviously he just didn’t think you’d be talking to someone quite as contrary as yours truly. I'm not going anywhere, and clearly your, ah, Father isn't going anywhere, so why not take a few minutes to enjoy this glorious sunlight and then you can go back to... wherever you came from. We can continue this conversation later, when you've got more information."

Her gaze was surprisingly steely when she made eye contact with him. "You shall receive no greater honor than the regard of our Father, but I will request the wisdom of those above me. I am sure that when you understand properly you will accept His gift."

He grinned at her. "Sure thing. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy today."

He resumed his lazy sprawl, arms crossed again beneath his head, and lowered his eyelids until the tiniest crack of sight remained. Silently he watched the malakh lift her face to the midsummer sun. As he watched, her mouth softened into a smile of genuine happiness at the rays on her face.

With a smile that was just as pleased, if not _quite_ as nice, Nergal drifted into a comfortable doze. When he woke with the setting of the sun, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Approximately a year later, she returned.

This time Nergal was comfortably seated in his own palace under the earth, lounging on a (rather nice, if he did say so himself) throne of carved wood inlaid with gems and bone. A storyteller was regaling Nergal with the tale of some obscure hero or another. Both Nergal and the storyteller winced and shaded their eyes when the chamber was suddenly filled with white light.

Shamsiel, already wearing her human visage, looked distinctly uncomfortable to be underground.

Clapping his hands together, Nergal stood and dismissed the storyteller with a quick gesture of his head. He descended from the dais and offered his hand to the malakh, smiling all the while.

"My friend! I thought you'd abandoned me. Tsk tsk. Negotiating my dowry with your supervisors this whole time, were you? How generous. Come on, let's go enjoy the sun."

He took her arm in his and she started. At her expression, he smirked. “Delightful little trick I’ve discovered. It turns out that the dead are significantly more agreeable if I let them manifest and mess about with each other, so every spirit in my kingdom’s got something vaguely resembling corporeality. Even me, and even you.”

Shamsiel looked suspiciously at his arm, looped around hers, and brought up her other arm to prod it gently with one finger.

“Fascinating, isn’t it? Not that I don’t love floating about on wafts of incense smoke and prayer, but there’s something rather indulgent about this. Not to worry, it’s not permanent, and as far as I can tell has absolutely no effect on the spirit itself. It’s just like wearing a garment — and may I point out that _your_ garment is quite fetching indeed.”

With a wink and a steady stream of nonsense and flattery, he steered Shamsiel out into the blistering summer sunlight.

Once in daylight again, she visibly relaxed. He led her to a bench in a brick courtyard just outside the gate of his palace. Every brick was carved with symbols: crowing cocks, lions, his own name repeated over and over, and symbols of protection that promised death and plague for all who would defile the sanctity of his home.

She seemed arrested by the sight. "Your warnings are... blunt," she stated flatly, as her face tried and failed to fall into a disapproving grimace again.

He grinned wolfishly. "Yes, well, we use the tools at our disposal, don't we?"

Her eyes lit up unexpectedly. "Precisely! And with your acceptance of the generous offer of the Lord's regard, you could protect yourself with more, ah, all-encompassing symbols of warning. Surely not everyone who comes here is a thief or a villain?"

Nergal stared at her in bafflement for a moment before quirking an eyebrow. "You're quite new to this, aren't you?"

She scowled. "This is the purpose for which I was chosen from the host. Before you I was part of the united throng. _Everything_ is new to me."

He smirked. "Then have a seat, dear, and I shall tell you about humanity."

They settled onto opposite ends of the smoothly carved wooden bench and he continued.

"Man is a venal, barbaric, and vicious creature. His main goals in life are pleasure, comfort, the propagation of tiny copies of himself, and the misery of those he dislikes. He has created gods in his own image to chastise and reward him in equal measure, and the only thing that really makes him anything but nasty is the fear of what the neighbors will think."

Shamsiel stared at him in horror.

"What?" he quirked an eyebrow. "Surely you can't think it's anything but true. Come on — what do _you_ know about them? Does it contradict what I'm saying in the slightest?"

She leaned forward, scowling, and opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. After a moment, Nergal leaned forward and gently pushed her chin up with one finger, closing her mouth. She glared but leaned back in resignation.

"That's what I thought, So you'll excuse me, I hope, for protecting myself from those who would happily attempt to take what I've earned through my own efforts."

After a moment, she shook her head slowly. "No, but—"

"Ah ah ah! No buts. This is my domain, humans are nasty little vermin, and I shall do what I like in my own home. To which, by the way, you are quite welcome. I think I didn't say that when you came in."

He grinned at her winningly, and she sighed.

"Nergal, you are a ridiculous creature. I can't understand why I have been sent here to you, but here I am, so if you are quite finished maligning my Father's creations, would you be so kind as to allow me to speak my piece?"

His grin widened slightly and one eyebrow went up. "Why, my dear, you've been holding out on me. You've got a spine hidden under all that sweet innocence, don't you?"

She huffed indignantly. "The will of a malakh is the merest part of the will of the Lord, and—"

"No, of course, my mistake. Back to the task at hand." Nergal raised his hands in mock surrender and winked.

She let out a long-suffering sigh. "I have, as you requested, asked for some, er, specifics of the arrangement. You know, of course, what is required of you, and as you seem not to be completely without sense" (here he nodded his head in smirking acknowledgement of her backhanded compliment) "I have every faith you will acquiesce as soon as I have fully explained.

"You shall be accepted into the host as one of the elohim, and shall be privileged to join your voice with the Song." Here Nergal opened his mouth to interrupt but she silenced him with a glare. "Your stewardship of the underworld shall last until the ending of all things and your domains will remain your own. Your name shall be called Nergal-el and with such name you will bless the virtuous dead."

Nergal rolled his eyes and earned himself a fiercer glare as Shamsiel spoke more quickly.

"We shall announce to the prophets that your name is to be invoked against war and that you may be asked by humans to intervene with the Lord for deliverance for death."

Here she sat back, satisfied. Had she been mortal, she would have been breathless with effort and eager anticipation.

Nergal was nonplussed. "And what of disease and pestilence? Or my power to reap the living for my kingdom? My lovely little consuming fires? My dominion over the summer sun and its destruction?"

Shamsiel looked suddenly abashed. "Ah. Well, Raphael — blessings upon his name — already has dominion over diseases, and death is handled by rather a large number of my brethren..." she trailed off.

"And my fires and burning sun?" Here his genial face twisted into a sneer. "I suppose you, O sunlight of El, would steal that from me?"

Shamsiel recoiled and then, furious, surged against Nergal, poking him insistently in the chest with one finger. "How dare you? How _dare_ you? I am a servant — a _dutiful_ servant of the Lord and I have come to give you the greatest gift that He can offer. The gift of _life._ Little godlet, you know full well that your days are numbered, as are the days of all creatures whom He does not smile upon. I came here in generosity and honesty to save your sorry existence, and if that isn't good enough for you, sitting on your sad little throne in your precious tiny kingdom, then clearly you are far stupider than I took you for."

He shied away from her sudden attack with genuine fear, but her fury drove her onward until she was nearly in his lap, glaring fiercely at him. After a fraught and awkward moment, he dared to lay a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her backward.

"You're right. You're right! I know that your little goatherds are making waves. I, er, acknowledge that your god is powerful. But I'm not ready. Not yet."

She scowled at him, but said nothing.

"Oh, don't give me that look! Imagine you're me — no, don't roll your eyes, I know you've got imagination in there somewhere. Imagine you're me, and suddenly something beautiful and powerful comes to you out of nowhere and says 'I know you like your existence and you're happy with it, but it's doomed to end and there's nothing you can do about it. You can continue on existing in a reduced capacity, but, ah, you'll be cut off from the Song with no hope of getting it back. Wouldn't you need some time to process that?"

She sat, still glaring for a moment, but then lowered her head and stared at her hands, which she clasped loosely in her lap.

"I know that you want the best for me, for these awful little mud people, for yourself, for your, er, brethren, but I need a little time to think. Come back next year and have my answer then."

Shamsiel's shoulders slumped slightly, but she nodded.

Standing, Nergal offered her a hand. "Come on then, before you go I'll introduce you to this lovely stuff they're calling wine."


	3. Chapter 3

It turned out that Shamsiel rather liked wine, though she liked beer more. When she came to him the following year, he was lounging in one of his little riverbed hollows again, a jug each of beer and wine sitting corked next to him and a cup of wine in his hand.

"Ahhh, there you are. I wondered if maybe you would come to visit me today!"

She tried and failed to stifle a smile but before she could speak, he continued.

"Now, I hate to be a stick in the mud" (here he snorted with amusement at his own weak joke) "but a single year simply isn't enough time to really give the issue the thought it deserves, so I'm not going to have an answer for you today." She opened her mouth to interject but he held up a hand. "Ah ah ah, I know, I’m not cooperating with your orders, but this is still a civilized negotiation so you'll just have to live with the disappointment. As a gesture of goodwill, I've brought along some rather good drinks, and I'm hoping you'll accept my invitation to sit and drink with me, as friends. We are, after all, probably going to end up being brethren until the end of time, so we might as well get to know one another, hm?"

She looked at him suspiciously as she sat down. "I know all of my brothers and sisters intimately. It is a fundamental part of the Song."

"Ah. Yes, well, as I'll be — if I accept — a bit of a novelty to the, er, gathered throngs, I thought it would be nice if you could have the pleasure of introducing me to people. Naming me, or whatever it is you people do."

She seemed to chew on this concept internally for a moment before deciding it was safe to take in.

"I do not know how these things are to occur; I do not think such a joining has ever happened. So yes, I suppose you would be a novelty. Perhaps you are right."

He beamed at her genially. "There you are! Now get comfortable and have a drink. I must say, if you can convince your manifestation to allow the alcohol to do what it does to human bodies, it's worth your time. It's a lovely, floaty sensation."

He passed her a cup of beer and she sniffed it cautiously before taking an enthusiastic swallow.

"Blessings upon the beer, then! Enjoy it, sweetheart."

With a wink, he settled back to bask in the sun. Slowly, Shamsiel relaxed and did the same.

\--

The pattern continued for a handful of years. Sometime in the hottest part of the summer, Shamsiel would appear to Nergal, he would ask for another year, and they would sit and drink together, chatting idly about the human world.

Nergal seemed perfectly content to stave off the inevitable and keep his own powers for as long as possible, and Shamsiel apparently enjoyed hearing tales of the barbaric humans that worshipped him. (Every story of a sacrifice to himself that Nergal regaled her with seemed to provoke the creation of a new, different disapproving face. He'd be the first to admit he invented some tales just to see the look on her face.)

One year, as they sat in the courtyard, Shamsiel took a sip of her beer and looked pointedly at the brickwork.

“These would be more effective if you added Enochian.”

Nergal quirked an eyebrow. “Yes, I do believe you’ve mentioned.”

She leaned over and traced a long series of symbols in the bricks nearest her feet with one finger. The symbols glowed for a moment and then receded. The air seemed to thicken and still for a moment, as if something fundamental was shifting. After a pause, she sat back with a pleased smile.

“Blessings on your house, my friend.”

He stared at her blankly, and then his jaw clenched.

“Did you just write _another god’s name_ on the ground under my feet?” he asked in a strained and angry voice.

Unexpectedly, she blushed. “Er, no. That’s... well, that part there says, ‘This palace shall stand as a refuge and its enemies shall fail.’”

His jaw relaxed minutely and he hmmm’ed. “And the bit you’re suddenly trying to cover with the hem of your garment?”

She twitched her robe close to her body with one hand. “Not important, really.”

He snorted. “My dear, I find that immensely difficult to believe. You are nothing if not deliberate. Spit it out.”

She shot him a half-hearted glare but relented. “See and beware, for truth only cometh from Shamsiel,” she read.

His eyebrows attempted to crawl into his hairline, and then he broke out into a shockingly sunny smile.

“My dear, you are utterly charming. Did you really use your own name to protect _my_ home?”

She sighed. “I told you it was more effective, and I do know that putting my Father’s name here without your permission would be... uncouth. This was the most effective option I could think of.”

Before he could say anything else, she smirked. “And besides, technically His name is part of my name, so you get the benefit anyway.”

As his face fell into genuine surprise, she began to laugh. After a moment, he joined her.

\--

The next year, she appeared to a significantly disgruntled Nergal, who was stalking the riverbed with a sour expression on his face.

“Oh, yes, hello. Come to gloat, have you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Do I have reason to?”

He huffed. “Don’t play coy. Did you know I’ve received almost two dozen fewer blood sacrifices than I had at the same time last year? And we won’t even mention the fact that I had a dead soldier show up this winter who had invoked my name along with your Father’s when they died. Both of us! In the same prayer!”

Trying and failing to repress a tiny smile of satisfaction, she shook her head. “I am not aware of the actions of one individual man, nor do I care to be. You know that.”

He scowled. “No, but I’m sure your god is preening just the same. This is how these things start, you know. Just like rot. One day it’s just a few grains of barley and the next it’s an entire harvest wasted. Not that I generally mind that; the wailing and such can be satisfying, but—”

She interrupted him gently. “Nergal. There is nothing to be done today. I offer you the solace and welcome of my Father, if you will take it.”

His scowl deepened. “NOT TODAY. Don’t you dare rub that in my face, not right now.”

With a sigh, she raised her hands in surrender. “Very well. Let me at least offer you a friendly ear. Unburden yourself and perhaps your frustration will ease.”

For a moment he looked suspiciously like a child about to throw a tantrum, but eventually he relented and let his body slump.

She moved to his side and took his arm in hers, steering him gently toward the palace. “Come. Let us sit and drink and you can regale me with the tales of these terrible mortals.”

With a pout, he allowed her to lead him home.

 

\--

Some years later, a scant generation after their first meeting, Shamsiel showed up early, just at the height of the harvest season.

Nergal was in his underworld palace, slouched decadently on his throne and watching with lazy fondness as a nubile youth bobbed his head slowly beneath Nergal’s garment.

Shamsiel stared at the scene in shock.

"What are you _doing_?!" she shrieked. (She would deny to the end of time that she shrieked, but he persisted in teasing her mercilessly for it anyway.)

With a grin, he gestured to an empty seat at a banqueting table. "It's the harvest, love; I'm," he interrupted himself with a sudden gasp, then continued, "celebrating."

"Are you _fornicating_?" she hissed with disgust as she sat herself primly in the chair.

He didn't answer for a long moment, but instead closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his throne. Finally, he patted the boy's head, and the boy slunk off.

Nergal shifted on his throne, looking smug and satisfied as he adjusted his clothing. "Well, technically, no. No one in my domain is married, nor could they be, as they're all dead. Except for me, of course, and I was never alive. So, while I suppose it _would_ be, in the absence of a legal alternative, copulation outside of marriage, I'm sure you'll agree that it's a moot point."

Her mouth dropped open in shock, and with a grin he got up and walked toward her. Before he could close her mouth for her, however, she shied back and snapped her jaw shut.

He frowned. "You understand that even I wouldn't have been so crass as to do this in front of you if I'd had the slightest notion you'd be here. You are significantly early, you know."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I was encouraged to... make further efforts to convince you to accept the offer. And I didn't realize how early in the year it was. Time passes differently in Heaven."

He smirked. "Of course, my dear." With a negligent wave of his hand, the revelers in the hall faded into darkness and disappeared. "Better?"

She blinked at him in surprise. "Underestimating me again, dear friend? I'm in my own throne room and it's the harvest celebration. All over the kingdom sacrifices are being made to me and my kin. If I couldn't even control my own subjects, I'd be a very poor king indeed. I was feeling indulgent, and they're so tractable when I spoil them from time to time, so I thought I'd have some company for my little assignation. Clearly your visit is more important, though, so they don't need to be here anymore."

"I... suppose that makes sense," she murmured, nodding slowly. "Why... what... why..."

"Why did I have that beautiful black-eyed boy under my robes? Because he's very clever with his tongue; he enjoys it, and so do I. What was he doing? Well, I'd show you, but you do at least appear female, so I'm fairly sure I couldn't."

She glared at him, affronted. "I do not fornicate, godlet."

He laughed delightedly. "Oh _godlet_! I haven't heard that in quite some time. I really have ruffled your feathers, haven't I?" Smirking, he shook his head. “As I said, if one is granted no opportunity to follow the laws, such a small indulgence can hardly be faulted. For that matter, none of us are even corporeal beings. We exist in this place solely through faith - of man or of god, it's the same thing in the end."

She stared at him dubiously. "This is a trick. You are trying to prove yourself unworthy so you do not have to make a decision on my offer."

"No — although that's a good idea, I wish I'd thought of it, actually. No matter. All that’s happened today is that you have seen me taking part in something that brings me enjoyment, much like the beer.”

Her skeptical frown deepened. “I hardly think this is akin to beer.”

“Ah, but it is, my dear! My people and yours alike have a proscription against drunkenness, yes?”

“...Of course.”

“And you and I have drunk beer and wine and not lost our heads with it, correct?”

“Well... yes, but I—”

“Ah ah ah, let me finish.”

She huffed.

“It is forbidden to be drunk but, not to drink. Likewise it is forbidden to copulate outside the bounds of marriage, but not to copulate _ever._ ”

Her scowl lightened into a dubious expression.

“Now you’ve seen one of the sorts of things we not-married and never-married types could get up to. This breaks no laws — of god or of man — and everyone involved has a marvelous time. I contend that I’ve just as much a right to this as I do to the beer, the meat, the prayer, or the incense that’s offered to me, or for that matter, for the conversation you and I enjoy together. Now, you are in no way obligated to consider my argument, but I _did_ think we were friends, and surely that counts for something."

"I.. yes. Yes, Nergal, we are friends."

"Good, then we'll just forget this ever happened and you can come back in midsummer as usual and—"

She turned a calculating eye on him and interrupted. "What if I don't want to forget it happened?"

"And... what?"

"If we are friends, and, as you have argued and so I accept, it breaks none of the Father's laws, then perhaps you could... show me more."

Nergal suddenly looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "Well that's... lovely. Perhaps when you come back...?"

"Now is the time for celebrating, is it not? You were already ... enjoying yourself. I see no need to wait."

He sighed. "This isn't exactly something you do on command, you know. I won't tell you no, because I like you, and I /did/ make the argument, and, frankly, I don't want to piss you off and have you go tell your supervisors I've pissed you off, but ... just give me a few. Have a drink with me, and we'll talk, and if you still want to partake, then we will."

Shamsiel's lips turned up in a new smile, one that was more than a little smug. "I'm glad you see things my way."

Many cups of beer later (she'd agreed with him, in the end, that allowing the alcohol to mimic its natural effect on the human body _was_ rather pleasant, though they skirted right up to the line of real drunkenness), they stumbled to his bed. He was surprised to find her demanding, and she was surprised to find him quite tractable, once she supplied the right rewards.

In the noonday sun the next day they parted with a kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

For many years this arrangement continued. Their friendship deepened and each began to admit that Shamsiel's yearly offer and Nergal's request for more time were an increasingly weak pretext for simply enjoying each other's relaxed company. They became affectionate (if always a tad combative), because, among other reasons, nobody likes hanging out with the dead and angels don't really make friends.

Shamsiel taught him the signs of the angelic language so he could expand his palace's wards in slightly less-lethal ways, and Nergal introduced her to the wider pleasures humanity had to offer. They teased each other mercilessly; she never passed up an opportunity to call him a dunghill cock, and he responded by sweetly calling her his Naomi, his pleasant and agreeable girl.

One mercilessly sunny afternoon they sat in the courtyard as he idly wrote incantation after incantation into the bricks in cuneiform Akkadian and strangely-shaped Enochian.

“You know, you really ought to start writing these warnings in Hebrew as well,” Shamsiel commented.

He frowned but continued. “Not this again. I’m not going to cede one inch of ground to your little goatherds until I have to.”

She tutted. “My friend, you know they are becoming more powerful. They have _been_ becoming more powerful. It’s why I came here in the first place, you know.”

His frown deepened. “I don’t want to hear about it. I’m offering my worshippers every advantage I can in their little wranglings for power.”

“Nergal, you can’t—”

“Oh but I _can_ , my dear girl. You know full well that whatever gains they’ve made are transient. If I’ve got to throw everything at them to keep my place, then I’ve every right to do so.”

“But you _don’t_ have to, and you know it. If you’d just stop being so stubborn and accept—”

“Not on your life,” he interrupted. “Become vassal to some absent god who won’t even walk the ground of his own creation? I think not.”

She shot to her feet in anger. “How dare you! You know He speaks to his prophets and, for that matter, he tasks his servants to walk this earth for him. Servants like ME. Am I so lacking value that you will never trust this offer unless it comes from his mouth? Are you so blind that you cannot see what He and I are trying to do for you?”

He sat fuming for a moment, clenching his jaw as he struggled not to respond.

“Little dunghill cock, what does this world give you that is better than what you have been offered?” she asked coldly.

“You _know_ this,” he bit out. “Or I thought you did, anyway. What you’re thinking in any given moment is always a bit opaque to me.” He waved his hand in a dismissing motion as if shooing the thought away, and sighed, before continuing on steadily. “This is _my_ kingdom. This is _my_ palace. These are _my_ dead. If I take your offer, I cease to be myself. I become some new being, with a new name and new powers, who answers to someone else. My people will fall; yours will, too, I expect. And then where will I be? A king becomes a servant; that servant may become a slave, and, in the end, be forgotten. And all my scraping and clawing and eating the gods and the dead of other civilizations to gain me the power I have today will be for _nothing._ ”

She made a frustrated noise. “I have told you that He who knows all things has said his people will not fall.”

He scowled. “And I tell you that gods are tied to the fates of man. I don’t believe anyone can know what they will do, yet where their prayers go, so do we. You know there were gods here before me and my kind. And their people died out and now they are forgotten. Neither of us could remember their names if we had hot pokers to our eyes.”

“You must have faith,” she urged. “If not in him, then in me. I would not lead you astray; it is against my very nature.”

“Have faith in what? Eternal life handed to me on a platter, when everything I’ve ever seen says that’s impossible?”

He sighed again, more deeply, and hunched in on himself, scrubbing his hands over his face wearily.

“I’m not built to believe, my dear girl. I’m only built to do what I do.”

She deflated a bit, at that. “I offer you His gift as usual, but know that you will not be able to put the decision off for much longer.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his brow wearily. “I know. Just a few more years. Let me be a coward a little longer.”

\---

After a further span of years — or possibly even generations — had passed, Shamsiel once again surprised her friend, winging into his palace agitatedly. She was visibly flustered and clearly working to school her face into a somber expression.

He looked up in surprise from the glass of wine he had been idly sipping. The throne room was empty except for him; her eyes darted around in confusion.

"Ah. Decided I'd refrain, this year. Had a strange feeling you'd be coming early, since the harvest offerings were particularly paltry. Your boys finally winning out there, then? Thought as much.” He sighed. “In that case, it must be time for me to happily accept your offer."

She shook her head and straightened her back into the stiffest, most formal posture he'd ever seen her take. "We... you waited too long. I've been sent to tell you that... That the kingdom of the Lord is at hand, and the tribes of Israel have taken their place as kings. The underworld has been brought under the dominion of the fallen angels—"

Here Nergal spluttered indignantly but she silenced him with a look and an outstretched hand. "The underworld — which is greater than just this corner of the land of the dead — has been brought under the dominion of the fallen angels. You will be allowed to live, but you shall be entered in servitude to the demon Lilith and her minions. This is not a bargain, but you have a choice. If you refuse — and if that is your choice you must do so immediately — you will be stricken from the earth and erased from the memories of all mankind."

She dropped her hand and waited passively for him to reply.

He gaped at her in shock and then snapped his jaw shut. "And this is what I get for my years of friendship with you?" he hissed furiously "All of the things I did for you — _to_ you!, all of the _time_ I put in, and I get nothing out of it? The gifts I've given, the sacrifices made in _my name_ that I shared with you and I've got nothing to show for it? You couldn't even have the decency to tip your hand a little earlier?"

She sneered at his outrage. "You were offered a gift and decided to angle for something bigger. I have offered it to you again, and again, and again, but you were too self-centered to see the treasure just inches from your nose. The Lord is under no obligation to reward your greed. Nor, as it turns out, am I."

Lurching from his throne, he threw down his cup before stalking to glare at her intimidatingly "Oh, sweet Naomi," he purred, his tone unctuous, "what /are/ you under obligation to do, hmm? Play along, bow your head, ask nothing for yourself? Good, pleasant girl, do they know what they have in you? Do they know how demanding you are, how greedy for approval?"

She shoved him away angrily. "You knew what you were doing! You... you twisted words and... You are a corruptor! You deserve the life of a demon!"

He laughed, bitterly. "Oh darling, I think not. Do I deserve the life of a demon? We'll never know, as that's the only life it seems I'm going to get. But don't ever, _ever_ delude yourself that you didn't follow the rules to. the. letter just as well as I did. All I did was offer you the perspective to look through your cage bars at a slightly different angle."

She grit her teeth. "Shut your mouth, demon. I hope you live long enough to really, /truly/ regret that you tried - and failed - to use me in your pathetic, self-serving scheme."

With a sudden burst of blinding light that made him shrink away in pain, she was gone. Nergal felt his palace begin to dissolve around the edges. He felt something tug him downwards, first naggingly, then inextricably. He closed his eyes and gathered the tattered remnants of his godly power into a tiny, concentrated ball within the core of his spirit, and let himself be dragged to Hell.

\--

Epilogue

 

Shamsiel stood before Sadriel, the angel of order, chastened, ashamed, and _angry_. "It was not my intent, my brother, to disobey. I was foolish and deserve punishment."

"And so you shall have punishment." Sadriel's voice rang through her, clearing her mind. "You shall not forget; not the pleasures nor the anger nor the temptation of your errors. For your contrition, your station in the Host shall be raised. Unto you shall be given dominion over your brethren, that they may live in the grace of His name and be cleansed of any wrongdoing."

The myriad eyes of her true form widened in awe. "The Lord is just and merciful. Blessed be the Lord!"

A wave of Sadriel's dry amusement rolled over her.

"If I might ask just one indulgence, my brother?"

The amusement settled quickly into skepticism bordering on disapproval.

"I ask that my name be forgotten by the brethren. I wish... I beg to be known as Naomi, for so the demon named me, and so I was not. Let me bear it as a mark of my shame and a reminder of how easy error is for all of His creation."

Sadriel paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Very well. Let the words of the Song be changed. From henceforth shall you be our sister Naomi, angel of divine correction."

**Author's Note:**

> The theology underlying this work is heavily indebted to Terry Pratchett's Small Gods. I apologize for playing fast and loose with both Sumerian/Akkadian cosmology and Talmudic angelology.


End file.
